


Maturity Vs. Experience

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Arguing, Competition, Drunk Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-20
Updated: 2007-10-20
Packaged: 2019-06-11 04:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15307401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: Spike and Giles during the time Spike was a 'guest' at his place.





	Maturity Vs. Experience

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilithbint](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lilithbint).



> Warnings: immaturity, cussing, old hippie music, tea

“Tiny purple fishes run laughing through your fingers and you want to take her with you…”

Giles stormed across his living room, keys still in hand, door open behind him, “What the hell?”

“Hey!” Spike popped up from where he sat leafing through Gile’s record collection while the watcher snatched the stylus from the album that was playing. “You’ll scratch the vinyl!”

Giles thumbed the turntable off and reverently removed the LP, turning it toward the light to check for scratches himself. “I have never said you could touch my things, Spike. Not…” not that song. Not the song that reminded him of Joyce.

“Easy, there, Rupert. I was bored. You’d rather I looked for your new hiding place for the scotch?”

“Scotch can be replaced. This is a first imprint.”

“It was on top. And if I’m going to listen to Cream, you know I’m going to go for the more psychedelic stuff. By the way, nice little acid rock thing you have going here. Guess you weren’t always so tweedy and dusty-elbows boring.”

Giles didn’t respond, merely taking the album and lovingly ensconcing it in its paper sleeve, then its cardboard jacket.

“Don’t get all arc of the covenant, mate. It’s not like they don’t crank out the compilation CDs for the ‘I’m recalling my lost youth’ crowd.”

“I need a drink,” Giles said.

Spike nodded and pulled a bottle from behind a fold of his coat. Giles rolled his eyes heavenward.

“Hey,” Spike said, “I didn’t say I DIDN’T go looking for where you hid it. Now why don’t you put away your embarrassingly mainstream records and I’ll go get the glasses.”

Giles was stunned for a moment, unsure of how he’d let the vampire have this sort of liberty in his life. “What's mainstream about Procol Harum?” he said, somewhat defensively.

“Kidding,” Spike said, already pouring liberal glasses of Rupert’s good single malt. “Musical taste is just that. Taste. Hell, I’ve got a hundred years of youth to recapture and let me tell you how hard it is to get Bessie Smith’s records these days.”

Spike kicked back at the dining table and raised his glass. Giles picked up the other glass and downed it too quickly.

“Well if that’s the mood you’re in, we’ll get the cheap stuff out,” Spike smirked.

“Bloody hell. How do you do that?”

Spike raised his eyebrows, looked at his glass and then back at Rupert. “Pour drink in glass, lift glass to lips, sip? It’s not terribly complicated.”

“Not that, you infuriating vampire. How do you manage to be completely immature and at the same time presume to judge my habits?”

Spike held up a finger. “Completely immature.” He added a second. “Immortal.”

“You may be older than I am in years, but there’s something to be said for growing older mentally. I know better than you. Point of fact, I am better than you.”

Spike straightened in his chair. “Are not!”

“Yes, and a very mature response to prove my point.” Giles rolled his eyes and poured a second, hefty glass of scotch.

“Bet I could pick a lock faster than you.”

Rupert blinked, and repressed a smile. “Do tell.”

Twenty minutes later they’d both picked the lock on Giles’ least favorite file cabinet twice and switched to blended scotch.

Spike had his head in the door, scrutinizing the simple lock. “’S not fair. You had a hex on it or something.”

“No. I was better than you.”

Spike closed the drawer with more force than necessary. “Hard to stay in practice when you have the strength to break them.”

“Face it, Spike. You’ve lived four times as long as I have but you’ve advanced nothing in terms of intelligence and skill. There’s nothing I can’t beat you at.”

Spike lowered his lashes. “Want to arm wrestle, then?”

“Nothing that isn’t granted by your supernatural status,” Giles quickly corrected.

“Right. Got any cards?”

“Cards?”

“I’m about to smoke your arse in poker.”

Spike insisted that one could not play poker with scotch, since it was clearly and completely a bourbon game, and at that point Giles had a pleasant enough buzz to agree to it and didn’t even blink when Spike opened his liquor cabinet.

Three hands later Giles decided to STOP drinking as the queen of diamonds kept winking at him. “Really? You were there?”

“May of 67, basement club, Pink Floyd? Yeah. What a crowd that was. Didn’t have to breathe and I got a contact high.”

“There had to be three watchers in that crowd. Seriously. Field agents. Not to mention Ethan and me.”

“Like that’s so bloody scary. Watcher boys have tried to kill me dozens of times. It’s not even entertaining.”

“Well, Ethan would have been entertaining enough for your tastes, if he’d known there was a vampire about.” Giles snorted and tried to see around the edge of Spike’s hand. “If he’d known you like I do.”

“Please. You don’t know me. Are you going to call?”

“What? I thought it was your bid.”

“No it isn’t.”

Giles blinked. “What was the raise?”

Spike threw his cards onto the table. “Forget it. Keep the pretzels. Proves nothing beatin’ you three sheets to the wind.”

Giles straightened himself. “I am not.”

“You are. Either you need to get a hot cuppa in you or I gotta catch up.” Spike picked up the bottle of bourbon and drained half of it in a prodigious gulp.

“So we’re going with the more immature option. Of course.”

Giles was careful standing as the room had developed a swaying softness. He kept one hand on the counter as he walked into the kitchen and put the tea kettle on. He looked back at the vampire still draining his third-best bourbon. “I can make a better cup of tea,” he said.

Spike dropped the bottle, swayed a little and pointed at Giles belligerently, “Not a chance! I was a Victorian, mate!”

The next twenty minutes developed into a series of inconclusive tests on tea preparation, biscuit dunking, pitching teaspoons and thumb wrestling.

The cursing contest Giles had to concede, but he pointed out that it wasn’t his fault if he didn’t know as many slang terms as Spike, as he had never had occasion to curse out his great-grandmother.

They ended up, not quite as drunk as they had been, on the couch, Spike flexing his thumb thoughtfully and muttering about super-speed never having seemed to apply to it.

“Oh get off it. We tied.”

“Vampire here. Physical contest should be a fuckin’ landslide.”

“Well it goes to show I was right.”

Spike rolled his head on the back of the couch and raised a lazy eyebrow. “You know this whole contest thing is pretty immature, right? And it was your idea.”

“It was not.”

Eyebrow raised again.

“Was it?” Giles ran a hand over his face.

Spike pulled his legs up onto the couch and knee-walked to Giles. “Pick another test. Pure skill. Latin translations at twenty paces?”

Giles squinted at Spike. “Don’t be absurd.”

“Well you ruled out wrestling. That’s really what I’m best at.” Spike put his arm across Giles’ chest, grasping the armrest and effectively caging him. “C’mon. Your turn to pick. Or are you too old and tired?”

“If that’s supposed to be a threat, Spike, do remember which one of us cannot hurt the other.”

He tilted his head with a coy smirk. “Maybe I’m flirting.”

“Now there’s something I could trounce you at, easily.”

Spike lowered his chin and regarded Giles through his lashes. “Oh you don’t want to go there, mate.”

“Well, fortunately for your inflated ego, we haven’t got anyone to judge such a competition.”

“Sure we do. We flirt with each other, first one to cry out ‘please fuck me already’ loses.”

“You’re over a hundred years old, Spike, show some dignity.”

Without warning Spike lunged forward and caught Giles’ earlobe between his teeth. After a brief nibble, he purred, “You’re only saying that because you know you’re going to lose.”

Giles twisted away and ducked under Spike’s arm. “That’s not flirting, it’s molestation, you classless twit.”

“Easy there, Rupert. Such words do go straight to my heart.” Spike laid his open palm over his chest and fluttered his eyelashes.

Giles reached up to take his glasses off and only then remembered he’d left them on the poker table. No wonder Spike looked so good. Particularly with the way he was leering, the delicate point of his pink tongue brushing slowly across his teeth.

“Right,” Giles said. “Latin translation, then?”

“Rupert! You can’t back out now. Sod the Latin. Look at the ‘tests’ you’ve come up with! Tea? Spoons? Latin? What’s next, folding laundry? These are not the feats of skill of the man who bought that record collection.”

“Latin was your idea,” Giles frowned.

Spike wriggled like a cat preparing to pounce. “Desperate ploy to pique your interest. So you going to return a volley or what? How will the master counter the deadly ear-nibble opening by his worthy opponent?”

Giles' shoulders relaxed and he rolled his eyes. “Worthy? Bollocks.”

“Oh I get it, you want to lose.” Spike crawled over the couch far more slowly than necessary, putting his grace and flexibility on display. “Rupes, you naughty boy.”

Giles grabbed the vampire by the wrist and quickly turned to press his arm up against his back. “You have no idea how naughty I can be.”

Spike leaned his head back on Giles’ shoulder. “Brilliant counter.”

“This isn’t flirting, Spike,” Giles tightened his grip. “It’s threatening.”

Spike sighed. “Vampire, remember? This bloody well IS flirting. Just break the skin and we’ll call it foreplay.”

“Game’s over. I’m going to bed.”

“Only to wank. Smell it, love, smell it all over you. Ah!” Spike craned his neck at the increased pressure as Giles cruelly twisted his arm, but then he turned bonelessly in to the force, coming up face-to-face, his arm raised, still clenched in Giles’ two fists. “Then there’s the fact that you didn’t let go. Because you don’t want to.”

And with that Spike reached down to cup the front of Giles’ pants.

“You’re crass.” Giles let go of Spike’s left arm. “You’re crude.” He grabbed Spike’s right arm, the one attached to the hand that was digging steadily harder into his erection. “And you don’t know the first thing about romance.”

Spike leaned back. “I got you all hot and bothered though, didn’t I?”

Giles pushed the vampire across the room. Spike let him. They ended up against the wall by the front door. “And what happens after you lose this contest?”

“Not gonna lose,” Spike said. He flicked his tongue against Giles’ other ear.

Spike let Giles pin both his hands to the wall. “And your strategy is, what? Be wanton?”

“Well, I could be the one playing rough and commanding but there’s a chip in the way.”

Giles felt an answering erection in front of him, rough denim texture pressing through the finer fabric of his slacks. He rolled his hips forward, felt zipper and buttons and the promise of thin layers of fabric going away. “I don’t think so,” Giles narrowed his eyes. “No… you like this, don’t you? Being helpless.”

Spike pushed away from the wall, pelvis first. “Hardly. Vamp topped by a human? That’s beyond perverse.”

“Then why would you come to your worst, most powerful enemy when you needed help?”

“Knew her watcher was a perv.” Spike was walking Giles back across the room now, and the watcher had both his hands on Spike’s hips, keeping the contact as they moved with delicious asynchronous bumps. They hit the back of the couch. Giles let go to unbutton his collar.

Spike followed the opening collar and started lavishing every exposed inch of skin with kisses and licks. “Mm,” he said. “Human sweat. It’s been weeks!”

“Again. Not the least bloody bit romantic.”

“Shush. ‘M enjoying this.”

Giles fumbled with his shirt, wondering how he’d ended up like this but not caring so much anymore.

Spike paused between changing sides and regarded Giles with raised eyebrows. “You taste better than your single malt.”

“At least you’ve started making compliments,” Giles muttered. He shrugged out of his shirt and threw it. “Minimal progress toward actual flirting. What I… uh…” He lost his rant as Spike’s lips encircled one of his nipples and began to suck gently and lave the hardening nub up and down.

“Ahem,” Giles said. “What do we do when this ‘flirting contest’ is over?”

Spike blinked up at him innocently and withdrew his lips into a smile. “Blowjob contest.”

“Oh,” said Giles, as Spike returned to attending to his nipples. “Good.”

Spike leaned back and pulled Giles up by his waistband. “Rupes old boy you aren’t conceding are you?”

“Well forgive me if I don’t know what turns on a vampire.”

Spike cocked his head. “Heartbeat pretty much is enough for me. C’mon, there’s gotta be a forfeit. Loser bottoms.”

Giles straightened at that. “I get the funny feeling I’ve been set up.”

“No, you’ve been het up. Ever since the cussin’ contest. Dirty. Old. Man.” An angelic smile, a blink, and then Spike dove back to work. His cool lips and tongue dragged a line of gooseflesh from Giles’ ear to his bicep. Spike stepped back, fingers kneading and lips working all the way down the arm to the wrist, which he turned and sucked greedily.

Giles bit his lip and rolled his eyes skyward. Yes. Definitely set up. There was only one way out of this.

He was going to have to cheat.

Giles worked his hands under Spike’s t-shirt. “Why is only one of us shirtless?”

“You really are throwing in the towel, Rupes. I was holding that back.” With a disarming smirk Spike sauntered backward and ripped his t-shirt off with one casual motion, revealing an exquisite, tightly muscled torso.

Giles was suddenly very conscious of how his stomach sagged a little from the angle he was leaning against the couch. He stood.

Well, sod it. This was war. Giles squared his shoulders, clenched his jaw and launched himself at the extremely attractive vampire. Those abs weren’t going to fondle themselves.

“Rupert! You devil!”

“No talking.”

Spike quirked a brow, meeting steely eyes. He nodded.

It started to get a little teenage and mad then, groping and grinding against each other. Spike started to slide down to his knees, nibbling and sucking each little inch of skin, and god! How had Giles never noticed how sensitive the side of his stomach was?

Spike gave a saucy wink and mouthed the stretched fabric over Giles’ dick. Suddenly his trousers were both transcendentally thin and way, way too thick. Giles took a step back to steady himself against the wall and undid his fly before the vampire could make that a slow torture.

Spike tilted his head, staying right where he was for a moment. Giles felt his heart clench as, against reason, a part of him suddenly panicked at how young Spike looked. Half his age.

Then Spike lowered his chin and crawled forward on hands and knees. No. Three times his age.

Spike nuzzled the leg of his trousers, drew his face up the fabric as though he couldn’t bear to lose contact. Then he was licking the silk of Gile’s boxers, and nibbling – Christ! Nibbling! -the fabric down.

Giles felt hot. Volcanic. Like he was going to burst into flame, and when those lips came at last to rest on his newly exposed skin, they were like ice. He hissed a long intake of breath.

Those lips were pressed together, for a chaste kiss on the leaking tip, and then slowly, naturally parting over the crown, pulling him into his mouth with maddening precision.

“Wha… wait… are we… skipping ahead then?”

Spike lavished a lick all the way around the head and looked up, pretty with a prick lying against his cheek. “Oh, Rupert. You lost.”

And then he was swallowing him, and it felt… what? Artificial? The temperature. You don’t think about the temperature inside someone’s mouth, but it was so cold, not like he’d been sucking on ice cubes but cold all the way through, although the flesh was moving, was pulsing, was gripping tight, it was cold all the way through and there was no way not to think about the fact that it was dead.

And then Spike rolled his tongue around the tip one more time and dove, full down, sheathing him in his throat, and Giles rather forgot about such petty concerns as the living or dead state of that throat that gripped him like a sleeve, that thrummed with a deep growl and set every hair on Giles’ body to stand on end.

Giles realized that he was, in fact, going to lose this contest. He didn’t quite care.

* * *

Spike was enjoying himself. The thin, taut skin of the cock, all those blood vessels so tantalizingly close to the surface. He could practically feel individual cells pulsing along the length of his tongue, full of life. He even enjoyed the building panic in his chest at going without breath. He’d never lost the habit of breathing. Hell, Angelus had tried to break him of it. There was a bucket and a bath involved and, well, long story short, if Angelus can’t break you of a habit you just aren’t going to break from it.

Then again, maybe Angelus had been trying the wrong way. Should have tried clean skin that smelled of musk and juniper and was slick and velvet.

The watcher was holding off like a champ. He could smell the fresh-spilt blood on old Rupert’s lips, could feel the sweat and the clenching hands on his shoulders.

His jaw was starting to ache a little, but he wasn’t giving an inch. This was full-on assault to the end. He pushed and pulled and dragged his teeth, played at pulling the head clear off. Growled. That was a dirty little trick, and he loved knowing it.

“Oh lord,” Giles sighed, and Spike felt the surge, a swelling that started at the base and rushed forward. He stopped a fateful moment wondering if Giles was more a deep-inside man or a see-it-splash man, and caught the blast rather in-between.

Spike pulled the softening prick from his mouth and smeared the cum around his lips as he smiled up at the red, deflated face of a thoroughly ravished Giles. “Well now,” he said. “Your turn.” He leaned back on his heels and dragged the back of his hand across his face.

* * *

“I need to get something,” Giles said. He started walking, then, as an afterthought, tucked himself away and re-fastened his pants.

“Oh come on. Undead here. You’re not going to catch anything.”

“I don’t know where you’ve been.”

“Yeah but there’s… well, I don’t know if it’s because the little germies can’t feed off dead flesh or it’s part of the whole mystical business but trust me, I’ve been places a whore’d blush at and never caught anything.”

“Yes, and I’m sure you carefully observed those partners of yours that survived to confirm that nothing was transmitted without affecting you.” Throughout this exchange, Giles searched through various boxes on his desk. Cheating. Yes. And there are certain magical talismans you simply did not tell your slayer about.

“Rupert?” Spike’s hand closed over the amulet in Giles’ hand. “You aren’t going to mojo me are you?”

“It’s a protection talisman. That’s all.”

“Really? Because it looks to me like Rosamin’s Amulet of Perpetual Ecstasy. There’s a useful bauble to keep in your desk.”

Giles raised his eyebrows and affected a nearly convincing look of surprise. “Oh. Is it?”

Spike held the amulet up by its chain. “I got one for Dru for her birthday back in the thirties. You were trying to cheat.”

“No, I... Well, yes.”

“Forfeit.”

Giles threw a hand up. “Bugger.”

“Yeah, that’s the idea. I think we both can agree I’ve earned it. Do you keep your slick next to your mystical sex toys?”

“It’s not a sex toy. That is a rare and valuable artifact.”

“Unbunch the shorts, Rupes. We’re still gonna use it. You don’t have to beg. Now, let me see if I remember how this works… you put the amulet on, yeah, and every little touch becomes mind-blowing.” Spike slipped the chain over Giles’ head and adjusted it. “Looks good in that chest hair, Rupes. Very manly.”

“That wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“No, but you lost, so now I get to play.” Spike bit his full lower lip and ran his fingers appreciatively down the lightly haired front of the watcher.

Giles snatched his hand as it reached his stomach. “We’re still competing.”

“What? First to come loses?”

“Hardly. I am at a distinct disadvantage.”

“You don’t actually believe that ‘vampires go all night’ crap, do you? Angelus pops his cap like a pre-teen.”

Giles set his jaw. “No, you ignorant… because of the amulet.”

“So you ARE okay with wearing it. My my. Spend enough time around books and you read like one. Slick. Where is it?”

“Upstairs.” Giles suddenly grabbed two handfuls of ass. “And the question is – which is greater, experience or maturity? So let’s both pay careful attention and decide at the end.”

They tumbled off the desk and across the floor and up the stairs with much groping and cursing, stripping and snarking which led to a side-bet on who knew their anatomical terms better.

“Mmm… scapula. Even sounds tasty, don’t it?”

“And you’re nibbling my trapezius. Really, did you never even ENTER a school?”

“All the time. Public places. No invitation needed. Mmm… tapezius. I’m going to guess you’re a side-of-the-bed drawer kind of man.” Spike broke away from a squirming Giles to open the bedside table.

Giles closed the bedroom door, checked his reflection in the mirror behind it. Maybe it was the alcohol, but he thought he looked rather dashing. James Bondish, really. He smiled devilishly at himself and turned into a smooth embrace. Jumping only a little. Bloody vampires and their lack of reflection.

“Wanna do it in front of the mirror? Won’t look like much to you but damn it’ll be kinky for me.”

Giles tilted his head in thought for a moment.

“One of the things maturity teaches you, Spike, is that many things that sound like a good idea end up with strained muscles and knee-cramps.”

“Now who’s bloody romantic.” Spike backed toward the bed.

Giles found himself suddenly sitting in the vampire’s lap with K-Y being poured into his hand.

“You’re gonna have to warm it up,” Spike said. “Got this circulation problem.”

“Feels to me like you’re circulating quite well.” Giles reached between his legs and felt the hard length of Spike’s cock.

“Yeah. Best not to think about it too hard.” Giles worked the foreskin back in the quickest way he knew. Spike gasped. “Or think just hard enough. More surprises from the old boy. You’ve had practice. Was it that clubbing buddy, Ethan? He still come around?”

“I wouldn’t touch Ethan with a full-body condom two inches thick. He worships chaos.”

“And you worship Order. Kinky.”

“Hardly.” Spike's hand joined Giles’ kneading and spreading slick between them, teasing from balls to crack and back again.

“Gonna get you panting for it,” Spike said.

Giles arched up against a particularly good press of fingertips to the smooth skin between his legs. The amulet was working, or else he was wearing his prostrate on the outside these days. Warmth and want were building in him. “Too late.”

“Right then.”

Giles landed airless on the mattress, shocked to have been flipped so easily, but not minding it. He leaned back against long fingers that explored and teased, feeling like cool water on a building fire.

And then there was that large head tapping gently on his entrance with exquisite promise of completion. And if he had done this with Ethan before, well that was none of Spike’s business.

Giles was trembling all over. “Do it already.”

“Easy. You’re so…”

Giles pressed back. “I’m not getting any younger.”

Dragging, pulling, and burning, but Giles wasn’t minding a little resistance, it was part of the appeal and he groaned, the pleasure/pain bursting behind his clenched eyelids.

“Ah! FUCK!”

And Giles found himself waiting for more, the feeling fading. He turned around. Spike had fallen off the bed, one hand clutched hard to his head, the other on the baseboard.

“What the hell?”

“Chip.” Spike’s eyes were watering and he looked up in disbelief. “Who programmed this sodding piece of machinery?”

“We really, and I cannot stress this enough, must destroy the initiative.”

“No arguments here. Maybe that was just too fast, yeah? I mean… did it hurt? Or maybe…”

“Oh shut up.” Giles grabbed him by the elbow and helped him back onto the bed. “Clearly, this shows that you ought to have been the one wearing the amulet.”

“Fuck the amulet.” Spike yanked the chain, breaking it despite a voiced protest on the cost thereof. It clattered against the bedside table. “I’ve had it with artificial. Let’s do this old-fashioned and fast.”

He crawled up Giles’ body, transferring slick as he could. “And you owe me a blowjob after this.”

Giles felt himself being pressed against a solid wall of flesh. “Christ, do you even have an asshole?”

“Here’s a bit of advice. If you find yourself about to become a vampire, get yourself good and buggered first.”

And then Giles felt flesh give way, just barely, felt himself inserted, and arched up against an answering down press, two men with their eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched.

There was a pause, gasping, adjusting, and then the rocking and grinding began.

“You’re right,” Giles hissed. “Fuck the amulet.”

***

“So, which won?”

Giles turned his head. He was resting in the crook of a rather comfortable, if dead, arm. “I beg your pardon?”

“Maturity or experience?”

Giles lowered his eyes and in his most mature voice said, “Well, clearly we need to perform more exhaustive tests.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first-ever attempt to write slash. It was done, once again, for a Feed My Kink request.
> 
> Requested by lilithbint on November 23, 2006.
> 
> "Mutual snarking and then some drunken challenges that lead to them having a blowjob competition and any other sort of sexual challenges you can think of. Frottage would be nice ending with Giles topping because of the chip."


End file.
